“A
journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you
control it.” – John Steinbeck
My
wife and I were talking in the car yesterday when we stumbled upon
the idea of “essential travel”. We feel that visiting Washington
D.C. And the Lorraine Motel in Memphis were essential places for
every American to visit. My wife, a more experienced traveler than I,
felt that Dachau and Olympia in Greece carried the massive weight of
history and were essential travel sites. I cited Graceland in Memphis
as being similarly worthwhile, but my wife gave me a dismissive sniff
and the most contextual shrug in all of human history. I deduced she
disagreed.
For
all our agreements on what “essential travel” meant, it seems to
remain a deeply personal matter. What we connect with as we leave the
confines of our own small pieces of Earth is unpredictable and
sometimes surprising. When I set off for Costa Rica and Belize, I had
my own ideas of what I thought would click for me. Ziplining would be
spectacular. The Belize Zoo would be amazing. The baboons would knock
my socks off. Snorkeling would be life-changing. And while these were
all excellent, none of them lived up to my expectations (except
snorkeling; it really was life-changing in a
sea-anemone-spine-stuck-in-my-finger-joint-forever sort of way).
Instead,
my memories harken back to smaller moments which seemed insignificant
at the time. Floating in the Pacific Ocean and understanding how
illusory our power over the world is. Hailing a cab from the Belize
City airport and making my first foray into a foreign country
completely alone. The driver was one-eyed and odd, but he gave me a
perspective on his country that I could never have gotten riding in
the bus if I'd arrived a few hours earlier. Sitting on a porch with a
Creole family drinking berry wine and learning how close to home I
was (softball is softball and teenagers are lazy) and also how far
away (worrying about chicken thieves and crocodiles biting you when
you go for a swim in the river). I stood atop a stone temple
dedicated to an old sun god buried by time and dug up again. And the
first sight of Tobacco Caye and agreeing with the sign proclaiming it
paradise.
Truthfully,
I don't wish I were back in Belize. The heat and humidity were nasty
and I love my home. But I can't shake the feeling that I'll never
forget what it was like to walk the rivers, beaches, and temples of
another nation in a part of the world I might never return to. Would
I recommend Belize to someone else? Absolutely. Would I call Belize
“essential travel”? Perhaps not. The experiences I had were
singular and someone else might see other things, feel other things.
But “essential travel” can extend beyond specific destinations.
Travel is itself essential.